THE PASSION OF LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 ^^^^. JESSIE WILSOjNT MANOTNG 
 
 \\ 
 
 r SEP 28 1887 >P ' 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 PRESS OF ROBERT CLARKE & CO 
 
 1887 
 

 Copyright, 1887, 
 By JESSIE WILSON MANNING. 
 
INSCRIBED TO 
 
 MY MOTHER, 
 
 MES. ADELINE HENSHAW WILSOK 
 
 ^5 
 
 As every tender mother fondly takes 
 
 Her children's gift of clover and weeds too, 
 So this, my crude poetic garland, wakes 
 
 In one dear heart a welcome warm and true. 
 
 For your sweet sake would that I might imbue 
 These blossoms pale with heart of "fire divine," 
 
 That they might glow with an undying hue, 
 And radiate inspired fragrance fine — 
 Thus be more worthy of your faith in me and mine. 
 
 Jessie Wilson Manning. 
 
 Chariton, Iowa. 
 
THE PASSION OP LIPE. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
PART FIRST. 
 
 Prelude — The Glamour of Youth, 
 
 T/f/^IIAT is so fair, so fair- 
 In all this world of care — 
 So fair as Youth f 
 Youth with its rhyme and chime, 
 Faith in grand things sublime, 
 Hope for great deeds in time, 
 Yearnings for truth. 
 
 Ah, how the golden haze 
 Flushes the fleeting days! 
 
 Dreams and Romance 
 Flood with a grace divine 
 All common things or fine; 
 Tarn water into wine — 
 
 Walk into dance. 
 
 (t) 
 
8 THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 
 
 Nature's sweet grace is wrought 
 On every ardent thought, 
 
 Impulse and aim. 
 Not yet has caution chilled — 
 . Not yet has passion thrilled — 
 Not yet despair has filled 
 
 Youth's heart of flame ; 
 
 Pidsing with prescient heat 
 To the advancing feet 
 
 Of life's events ; 
 Eager for strife to come — 
 Forecasting triumph's sum — 
 Knowing no fear to numb 
 
 Youth's sanguine sense. 
 
 All 'promise molded there. 
 Folded in youth so fair — 
 
 Youth in its purity. 
 What luill the sequel tell f 
 Will it prove ill or ivell f 
 How will the promise swell 
 In the futurity I 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Arthuu and Eleanor. 
 
 They leave her cottage door, and lightly pass 
 
 Into the tender, perfect evening light 
 That bathes the world in tints that might surpass 
 
 A painter's dream with genius at its height. 
 
 Mellowed half-lights, like Youth's dream softly bright, 
 Rich mezzo-tints like Love's first vague impress, 
 
 When all is beauty, joy and calm delight. 
 The odorous breeze comes like a sweet caress 
 Which the voluptuous earth seems silently to bless. 
 
 Young man and maiden ! Note, as they advance. 
 
 How rare and white, wdtli rounded curve her face ; 
 With that fine touch of power, from Truth, perchance, 
 
 And Strength and Helpfulness an added grace. 
 
 And his, mobile and dark, grows clear apace, 
 With sense of all the mystic sweetness near, 
 
 In harmony divine with time and place. 
 The natural attributes these two appear 
 Of such a landscape's charm, in twilight mild and clear. 
 
 They pass, with comment gay on their release 
 To June's sweet outer balm from heated rooms, 
 
 To where a carriage waits inviting peace 
 And breezy motion, while the chat resumes. 
 
10 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 They take their places as the moon illumes 
 The distant hills with early ray of gold ; 
 
 Touching with wizard lights the pines' weird glooms- 
 Gilding the busy town (not great or old) 
 To shimmering pageantry, like fairy fancy scrolled. 
 
 Small marvel that young Lynn should be engrossed 
 
 With Eleanor's bright conversation ; free, 
 Original and glad, it calls a host 
 
 Of brilliant thoughts from him in repartee. 
 
 His gifted skill at words full well knows he, 
 And loves on kindred steel to exercise. 
 
 Their play of bright ideas seems to be 
 Spark flashing unto spark in vital guise. 
 Even as lightning unto lightning in the skies. 
 
 The moonlight presently, from loftier lease. 
 
 The rapid river weirdly steals athwart. 
 Unconsciously their tilt of talk they cease, 
 
 And to congenial silence both resort. 
 
 For oft have they thus wandered in the short 
 And deepening twilight of the North, until 
 
 That moonlit river comes to seem a sort 
 Of mutual property ; while from the hill, 
 With note familiar, calls the mournful whip-poor-will. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 11 
 
 Arthur at length turns from the shifting view. 
 ** Tell me," he says, " can life bring aught more fair 
 Than just this idle hour to me or you ?" 
 " Nothing," she bravely sa^^s, " except the rare 
 
 And splendid prospect of a noble share 
 Of honest Avork, done grandly : viewed from age. 
 
 Even as the traveler in the valley there 
 Beholds the summit crossed^ and knows each stage 
 Of his long journey passed, was paid in life's full wage." 
 
 And thereupon they talk of earnest things. 
 
 Some toiler's masterpiece of lofty fame — 
 Ambition, and the benefit it brings — 
 
 (With youth's indifierence to power and name. 
 
 And scorn of worldly strife for loud acclaim.) 
 They argue — cosmopolitans of thought — 
 
 If search for happiness should be our aim, 
 And should the Personal Good or self be soua-ht. 
 Or higher ends be served — the general welfare taught. 
 
 At this same time, unconsciously compelled, 
 Eleanor's mind in undercurrent strain 
 
 Was on a woman far away who held 
 
 The plighted troth of Arthur Lynn. Her chain 
 He wore but lightly, and did not sustain 
 
12 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 The part of lover pledged, the world before. 
 
 Does he his callow youth's first love disdain, 
 A premature engagement now deplore ? 
 What reason, gay or grave, that he his bonds ignore ? 
 
 Be this all as it may ; 't is only true 
 
 That in the " rose-bud garden of girls" he flies 
 From flower to flower, and lightly sips the dew 
 
 Of sweet romance from blooms he does not prize. 
 
 Just now, young Miss Marine seems in his eyes 
 ''Queen rose" of all the garden. But he knows 
 
 No slightest thought of posing in the guise 
 Of an engaged young man before his rose : 
 Ah, no ! he loves romance, and scorns mere fact and prose. 
 
 It was, indeed, but yesterday by chance • 
 
 That Madam Kumor, omnipresent dame. 
 Had whispered Miss Marine with meaning glance 
 
 The tale of the betrothal, as became 
 
 That artless magnate, saying : " What — her name? 
 Why bless me, child ! and do you ask smce when ? 
 
 Well now, how strange ! one would have thought the fame 
 Of that aflTair had gone abroad. So then 
 You 've never known ? Ha ! ha ! well, that 's j^ust like these 
 men. 
 
THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 13 
 
 "Oyes! an old affair! Quite boy and girl 
 
 When first engaged. It 's been no secret here. 
 A distant city, with its social whirl, 
 
 Is now her home, and he does not appear 
 
 To wear the willow that she is not near. 
 But she is beautiful and wealthy too ; 
 
 A good match — yes ! if they are both sincere. 
 But knowing him so well, 't is droll that you 
 Knew naught of this ere now. A stranger here yet? 
 True !" 
 
 The voice of Arthur, musical and deep, 
 
 Bears in its tone a note of power subdued. 
 As if the owner might be one to keep 
 
 The rein of discipline o'er reckless mood, 
 
 Or on an impulse or ambition crude. 
 This voice o'er Eleanor exerts a spell 
 
 Like when she listens to the pines wind-wooed ; 
 And she has sometimes idly dreamed its swell 
 Was key-note to soul-power he might at will compel. 
 
 Some speculations on such themes remote 
 Are in her mind now on the river drive : 
 
 Half answering the while in dreamy note 
 The metaphysics which he keeps alive. 
 
14 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Till gliding to her consciousness arrive 
 Convictions — fears — whatever name might suit 
 
 The startled sense that Arthur now would rive 
 The door that sometimes rises dark and mute 
 'Twixt duty and pride within and truth they would refute. 
 
 Shall she unlock that door of silence now, 
 
 Let pride and duty thus be overborne ? 
 Admit the compromising truth — allow 
 
 Expression given to a love forsworn ? 
 
 Nay ! It is not her plan to thus be shorn 
 Of woman's dignity, and high demand 
 
 For Love s full-honored suit. In gentle scorn 
 She strives with firm but ineffectual hand 
 To bar his passage-way. He will not understand. 
 
 For Arthur Lynn — a strong ini23ulsive strain 
 
 His plan of discipline for once o'errides. 
 His face turned toward her, wears no trace of vain 
 
 Assurance or conceit. No shade there glides 
 
 Of realized dishonor on the tides 
 Of love impetuous, and regnant feeling, 
 
 To which he recklessly himself confides. 
 He sees in her, as by divine revealing 
 His own best hope and destiny ti him appealing. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 15 
 
 This late conviction rises into speech. 
 
 Our human conduct all the great world through 
 Brings now and then a problem to us each ; 
 
 How to know the false and choose the true, 
 
 Through false relations holding it in view. 
 These things are tests of character, I say. 
 
 In crises such as these, is it not due 
 To one's own better nature, to obey 
 The noblest inspirations of the heart's pure sway ? 
 
 In answer to her protest half-suggested, 
 
 " You speak from grounds ideal," he declares. 
 " Perhaps your strength has never yet been tested ; 
 You seem to nothing know of all the snares 
 Which life spreads out to trip us unawares. 
 
 Our petty ignorance and weakness — yea. 
 
 Heart-madness, too, which every mortal shares, 
 
 Must swerve us somewhat from the perfect way. 
 
 We all are human, dear — the soul is shrined in clay." 
 
 " Yes, yes !" she answers, turning now a clear 
 
 And present gaze upon his earnest face. 
 " Our will is weak — made weaker through our fear, 
 
 And right and wrong grow strangely blurred apace. 
 
16 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 But if to our best truth, throughout life's race 
 We 're true, and if with all our stren2:th we 're strons:. 
 
 Why then Pain's keenest edge can wear a grace 
 Which dulls its force and takes the sting from Wrong ; 
 And thus the soul shall triumph o'er the clay ere long." 
 
 " A¥ith all my strength I have been strong, yet fail 
 To master my own heart. O Eleanor mine, 
 
 Let life's be^st truth, the truth of Love, prevail." 
 He thus with skill converts her words to line 
 His thought, as now with tenderness divine 
 
 He warms to rapid, ardent, forceful speech. 
 His potent voice and words her heart entwine 
 
 In fatal mesh — beyond stern reason's reach, 
 
 Before she gathers strength his wooing to impeach. 
 
 *' You wrong yourself in speaking to me thus," 
 At length she said in tones intense and low, 
 " You whose faith is pledged, wrong both of us 
 
 With such wild words and moods. Full well I know 
 That for this lapse your honor and pride will throw 
 Eeproaches at you ere a day shall dawn." 
 
 A pause ensues, to which the river's flow 
 Lends music, while they pass in silence on ; 
 But from her crown of youth one priceless gem is gone. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 17 
 
 Soon after this they reach her cottage door. 
 
 Young Lynn, with usual dignity and grace, 
 Alights and hands her out as heretofore. 
 
 Maintaining somber silence and a face 
 
 Impenetrable in the passing space. 
 To her accustomed gentle-toned " good-night," 
 
 A veiled voice answers and is gone apace. 
 Kapidly in the mellow, rare moonlight 
 He speeds away, away, westward and out of sight. 
 
 And she — she listening stands in calm retreat 
 
 Of her own home ; stands listening to the sound 
 Of carriage wheels and hoof-beats on the street, 
 
 Now fast diminishing — now distance-drowned. 
 
 O sad first love ! unsanctioned and uncrowned ! 
 Sprung Pallas-like, full armed, from virgin heart. 
 
 Must all thy wealth and power be cast aground, 
 Thou mighty one ? thy glory crushed at start, 
 Because, forsooth, a girl's weak will bids thee depart ? 
 
THE PASSION or LIFE. 
 
 PAKT SECOND. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 Prelude — Song of the Soul. 
 
 Z^OUND and round I struggle and fly, 
 
 Struggle with fear of defeat creeping nigh, 
 Fly with conviction of victory high, 
 Try — try. 
 
 Upward, upward I strive and aspire. 
 
 Strive with intent to walk white through the fire. 
 
 Aspire to the beckoning star of the pyre. 
 
 Higher — higher I 
 
 (21) 
 
22 THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 It is not that a Mecca I have found 
 
 For all the pilgrims of ambition's breed, 
 Nor to Religion's cloth of gold around 
 
 My stubborn soul do I at last accede. 
 
 For all my father's atheistic creed 
 Inherited I hold. I could no more 
 
 In Christian garments clothe my mind at need, 
 Than heathen garb. As well withVedic score 
 Or Koran guide I 'd praise, as with our Bible lore. 
 
 Is Love the light which thus would guide my way 
 
 To pastures green of human happiness ? 
 No, no ! alone I climb, without dismay — 
 
 Up, up the sun-topped, time-hewn mountain press 
 
 Of individual labor and success. 
 But I am happy ! Happy, do I say ? 
 
 The world to me is white with splendor. Yes — 
 Even as yon leaves in yellow sunlight play. 
 My heart takes nature's gift, and joys in radiant day 
 
 But whence this light upon my little sphere ? 
 
 I can not tell ! I do not care to know — 
 I will not know J Enough that it is here. 
 
 I hear new music in the river's flow. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 23 
 
 Companionship and love within me glow 
 For all bright things. My heart shall gently drift 
 
 Along this shining stream untouched by woe. 
 For wanton joy I could my voice uplift, 
 And to tradition's God chant thanks for every gift. 
 
 Why do I start to hear the gravel grate 
 
 Resj)onsive to a well-known carriage wheel ? 
 
 Why do I flush and falter that my gate 
 
 Clicks 'neath familiar touch? A dark profile 
 My parted curtains partially reveal. 
 
 And now within he waits for me I know ; 
 And all his face, so strong yet so mobile, 
 
 On my approach will radiate and glow 
 
 Till my serene indifference I'd fain forego. 
 
 Now unaware upon me breathes the storm, 
 
 Scarce more than threatenings from afar as yet ; 
 And messages of ill in boding form 
 
 On gathering clouds before the sun has set ; 
 
 And sighings of the tempest yet unmet. 
 Though fraught the time with danger — O my soul ! 
 
 We know no idle fear or weak regret. 
 Youth in its power — youth with its fierce control, 
 Shall safely brave the storm and win our highest goal. 
 
24 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 I will not have it so ! My heart, my heart ! 
 
 'T is thou hast played me false ! Thou wilt confuse 
 The growing forces of a life's long art. 
 
 The buds of hope and blooms of toil refuse 
 
 To grow into a life which thou dost bruise. 
 I ivill not have it so ! O, shame for me ! 
 
 My rebel heart the mind's concession sues, 
 And judgment wars with feeling. Where are ye. 
 My boasted will and strength? Like summer friends, 
 ye flee. 
 
 How crooked seem the paths that lives must go. 
 
 I follow just a weary, winding line. 
 Life seems a silly wandering to and fro ; 
 
 No method, beauty, joy, grace, or design. 
 
 All my past purposes — ambitions fine — 
 My creed of helpfulness and busy cheer — 
 
 Are trying to desert me, and resign 
 My soul to sadness, idle, barren, drear. 
 Earth's triumphs all would fail to recompense this tear. 
 
 If we poor human things could realize 
 
 Some mighty good was being served by pain ; 
 
 That nature thus must tenderly chastise 
 
 Her children for some great and glorious gain — 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 25 
 
 It were less hard the struggle to maintain, 
 To lose our hope of love — love's blessings wide — 
 
 Ah then, if we the bitter cup must drain, 
 Might inspiration find to put aside 
 The suiFerings of self, while following duty's guide. 
 
 But no ! through life and all the natural plan 
 
 I vainly seek the wherefore and the why. 
 I search the earth — the way of nature scan — 
 
 My anxious thought must ask the very sky. 
 
 But, though all things may wondrous tales imply, 
 The rocks of purpose in the ages past, 
 
 The heavens of meaning in the worlds on high, 
 Yet nothing in all this, from first to last. 
 Tells where such misery as this of mine is classed. 
 
 Time passes ! now on wings — now creeping slow. 
 
 The days are individual. On one, 
 I tell my heart we did our courage show ; 
 
 But now on this, of reason I have none. 
 
 And I am irritable — overrun 
 With sneering ghosts of disappointing dreams. 
 
 But fancy, in her web, hath visions spun 
 Of yet another day ; a day which teems 
 With possibilities, where life is all it seems. 
 
26 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 The mellow northerD summer dies apace, 
 And with it, girlhood's shy and happy hope 
 
 Of woman's future ; wedded peace to grace 
 A joyous home ; and wedded will to cope 
 "With work and trial through a life's long scope ; 
 
 Of wedded love, that home to bless and crown — 
 Ah me ! henceforth my lonely way I grope 
 
 With naught of 'this. The leaves are turning brown, 
 
 And autumn's somber clouds on me are frowning down. 
 
 >!< >1< :^ >1< 
 
 Beyond that line of pines against the sky 
 
 There must be some heights, could I on them stand. 
 
 Which would reveal to my corrected eye 
 Symmetrical proportions, fair and grand, 
 Of all the things my mental vision scanned 
 
 And saw distorted. One life with its flaw, 
 
 flowe'er the flaw that life hath marred and spanned, 
 
 Shall not my intellect's support withdraw. 
 
 I must and will believe in great and perfect law. 
 
 Nay ! my one little life with fatal flaw. 
 
 Hides not the ''All's well" of the universe. 
 
 I do believe in great and perfect law, 
 
 Howe'er my soul it seems to grind and curse. 
 
• THE PASSION OF LIFE. 27 
 
 The thought unprofitable I '11 not nurse 
 That pain is chance to which we must submit. 
 
 Give me this comfort small in fate adverse, 
 That somewhere, somehow, shall some means transmit 
 My force of agony to some soul's benefit. 
 
 Ah, rapture ! heaven ! hours of which I 've dreamed ! 
 
 Rare ecstasy ! pure love's own sweet rapt bliss ! 
 Heart's ease, whose magic healing I had deemed 
 
 For me ! Does Honor say I all must miss ? 
 
 For me no pledge of faith, nor marriage kiss ? 
 The moon-drawn, tender tide of romance rare 
 
 Rise never to the full ? For me but this 
 Bleak rock of principle so lone and bare. 
 In daylight prose and desert waste and frozen air ? 
 
 O break, my heart ! burst from my breast in anguish. 
 
 Die in the storm, O soul so crushed with pain. 
 And O, my dreams and fair ideals that languish 
 
 Dull and denied — dissolve with this my brain 
 
 To final dust. Be earth to earth again. 
 Let me for once and all unloose my hold 
 
 Upon this vexing life, with troubled rein 
 Of spirit flying passion-wrecked, storm-rolled. 
 Away from all the light, with torn wings ill-controlled. 
 
28 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 'Tis true I could call back the bauishecl sun 
 
 Into my blackened sky. A word, a sign, 
 Which would reveal to him affection won, 
 
 And all that he could give would then be mine. 
 
 Methinks I see joy's rare and subtle wine 
 His strong, magnetic, speaking face illume. 
 
 Methinks I hear the tenderness divine 
 His voice would all too readily resume. 
 While I in love's strong arms should shun tliis darkening 
 doom. 
 
 But this is madness ! Should I linger o'er 
 
 Such possibilities of happy fate — 
 Consider long what I might thus restore 
 
 To two young hearts now breaking 'neath the weight 
 
 Of love's regret our lives had met too late — 
 I would forget my duty and resolve. 
 
 Such sweet content I 'd long to reinstate. 
 My mind would then my weakness fain absolve. 
 And in one narrow sphere of sophistry revolve. 
 
 No, no! let be the blessed " might have been." 
 Cost what it may, I' 11 follow duty's wake. 
 
 Cost what it may, I will have that within 
 
 Which yet shall hold me true for honor's sake. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 29 
 
 Yet if this sacrifice I should not make — 
 My unseen, silent principles deny — 
 
 Who tnen could blame me ? Who could ever shake 
 My married peace — my wedded place decry? 
 None, none of all the world, save only she and I. 
 
 Help ! help ! thou God whom human voices call 
 Throughout the whole world. Can it be in vain ? 
 
 It can not be a fruitless call for all. 
 O I must seek thy pity on my pain ! 
 
 I must have help — I must, mud prgty ! This strain 
 
 Of feeling bears my life down to the ground. 
 A flower will not live when torn in twain ; 
 
 A bird will die when pierced with mortal wound ; 
 
 Man only, hurt to death, can still live life's full round. 
 
 Could I but steal from life, out in the dark, 
 
 Calm rest of nature's mystery — set free 
 The unknown, evanescent, vital spark, 
 
 Which forces into play and holds in fee 
 
 The imperishable atoms making me. 
 Or could I sleep with such a blessed sleep 
 
 That waking, heart and soul might both agree 
 That all my struggles, loss and sorrow deep, 
 Were gaunt ghosts of a dream, fled with the dawn's first 
 peep. 
 
30 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 I own a deeper disappointment yet 
 
 Than loss of love or lover ever brings. 
 Long while I have endeavored to forget 
 
 That if he would, there 's one might tune these strings 
 
 Of discord harsh to harmony. There rings 
 Upon my heart a note of warning now. 
 
 Unto one query thought persistent clings : 
 Why does not he renounce his plighted vow 
 And with full-honored love my life and his endow ? 
 
 Is it that she has wealth, while I have naught 
 
 But just a home to shelter me ? That she 
 Has lands and gold — I none ? Perish the thought ! 
 
 It is unworthy him — unworthy me. 
 
 The possibility I can not see, 
 That I loved, might have loved, or love a man 
 
 Who could such petty calculator be. 
 I can not all my heart's ideals scan 
 And then believe him made on such, ignoble plan. 
 
 It is mistaken honor, I am sure, 
 
 Which still prevents the breaking of the bond. 
 What wrongs and losses many lives endure 
 
 'Neath thy name, Honor ! Couldst thou lift thy wand 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 31 
 
 And truth reveal, how ill 't would correspond 
 With the illusions man hugs to his breast, 
 
 And in all pride himself convinces fond 
 'T is thou that art his bosom's heavenly guest 
 Where only cowardice and pride have built their nest„ 
 
 And now, not only both his life and mine 
 
 Are hurt, but hers as well and most of all. 
 Her fate of loveless marriage will combine 
 
 Humiliated love and pride withal. 
 
 How bitter, should she learn his fatal thrall, 
 Or read with woman's eye his secret sad. 
 
 That while her speech and presence on him pall — 
 His flush of greeting, passionately glad. 
 To me shines ever forth, unconscious and forbade. 
 
 I still can pity her in my despair 
 
 As one condemned to harder lot than mine. 
 
 A doom more hopeless is a home to share 
 
 With one whose heart kneels at a foreign shrine, 
 Exilino; her whose life must his entwine. 
 
 'T would be like coming hungered to a feast, 
 Which vanishes in air ere you can dine ; 
 
 Or like mirage pursuing in the east. 
 
 Which flies elusive, as you haste with thirst increased ; 
 
32 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Or like embarking on a ship at sea, 
 
 V/hich parts beneath your feet and leaves you wrecked ; 
 Or selling all life's treasures for one fee, 
 
 Which turns to ashes you may not reject. 
 
 Tis O for her, who doth in faith accept 
 The marriage bond, to find her chains are lead ; 
 
 Enslaved to him who vowed he would protect. 
 In doubled solitude they share their daily bread, 
 With souts asunder while their feet one path must 
 tread. 
 
 I own it would make, to be sure, a strain 
 
 On any true man's strength of nerve and will, 
 
 To such cold-blooded, heartless candor feign 
 As 't would require a woman's heart to chill 
 With tidings that he does not love her still 
 
 Whom once he loved, or thought he loved. Yes, I 
 Can picture all this with misgivings ill — 
 
 And o'er such complicated sorrow sigh. 
 
 Yet this is better than a life's unending lie. 
 
 'T was only last eve that he caught my hand 
 With gesture passionate, and broken plaint 
 
 Against himself, and whispered a demand 
 To know if he might win me were constraint 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 33 
 
 Upon his wooing gon^. Could I acquaint 
 His heart with the conviction that I 'd pour 
 
 My trust, joy, hopes, life, love without restraint 
 Into his outstretched hand were 't not forswore, 
 AVhy then, forsooth he 'd free it, now forevermore. 
 
 I think I hated him a moment's space — 
 
 With haughty coldness made my quick reply. 
 "I'd scorn to choose another woman's jDlace. 
 That you could thus ask me to cast the die 
 Which would decide your bride — or she or I — 
 
 Proves you a selfish coward. You resent 
 
 My language plain and strong. You do n't deny 
 
 There's justice in it? Nay ! I only meant 
 
 To say to your proposal — I do not consent." 
 
 :^ :^ ;!< :^ 
 
 Ah ! now the sobbing heart its cries can cease, 
 Till I can hear the whispered voice afar, 
 
 The distant voice that promises me peace. 
 Nature and Reason their discordant jar 
 Will cease at length. My mind and feelings are 
 
 In unison again, and both serene. 
 
 Awake I 've lain the liveloug night. Yon star 
 
 That shines so steadily in silver sheen 
 
 My exaltation, tears, resolves, bv turns has seen. 
 
34 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Great thoughts come o'er the hill-tops with the dawn ; 
 
 The eternal mystery in heart-throbs deep 
 Beats rhythm divine my wakened sense upon. 
 
 In this most holy hour, close I creep 
 
 To Nature's secret on her breast asleep. 
 The voices of the pines a story tell ; 
 
 The spirits of the wind a message sweep 
 From past historic in my thoughts to dwell ; 
 And tones "from Future-land in vital silencs swell. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE, 
 
 PAET THIRD. 
 
PART THIRD. 
 
 Prelude — Lost Love. 
 
 A HEART ivith true love ^ learning 
 The bitter home returning 
 
 Of its own strong out-yearning. 
 Count the cost! 
 
 The thousand tendernesses — 
 
 The wealth of hope that guesses 
 
 At mystery it blesses — 
 Lost, ah lost! 
 
 A life, its great pain facing, 
 
 And finding phantoms chasing 
 
 Cherished hopes from placing 
 
 Crushed and crossed — 
 
 Their last dying sadness 
 
 On those ivrecks of gladness — 
 
 Haunted, pressed to madness — 
 
 Lost, oh lost! 
 
 (37) 
 
38 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 A world its graves revealing, 
 And with its dirge oidpealing. 
 All hope and heart congealing. 
 
 Tempest tossed. 
 To unknown wild space flying, 
 With law and truth sad sighing- 
 With love, deserted, crying 
 
 Lost! lost! lost! 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 39 
 
 Eugene to Eleanor. 
 
 What shadow is it creeping on your life, 
 
 Elaanor — O Eleanor, my friend ? 
 May I not know the meaning of the strife 
 
 You carry on alone, and help defend 
 
 Your nature from itself? For you expend 
 Your strength on battles of the intellect. 
 
 I fear your spmt fine its force will spend, 
 Because of its own earnestness be wrecked 
 Before your solitary triumph you effect. 
 
 Although you have not written any word 
 
 To tell me openly you suffer, yet 
 Surface ripples prove where deeps are stirred. 
 
 I feel assured, to my most deep regret. 
 
 You are by suffering or doubt beset. 
 All phases of my life you long have known ; 
 
 Have given strong, sweet help since first we met. 
 Albeit my friendship's pledged against your own. 
 You now your burden bear in silence and alone. 
 
 You do not think it strange that I should speak 
 Unto my heart's sole friend in words like these ? 
 
 Were 't not most natural for me to seek 
 
 To know your pain — and knowing, hope to ease? 
 
40 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 I do not say, *' forgive if I displeasGo" 
 If personal or sacred ground I tread, 
 
 I know you who have called me friend, will seize 
 My thought of sympathy and help unsaid, 
 Denying gently if this query is misled. 
 
 Ah well ; some natures thus help others ever ; 
 
 Themselves in sensitive reserve and pride 
 Refuse the web of silence aye to sever, 
 
 And all the temple of the soul confide 
 
 To any human heart there to abide. 
 You weave this web of silence firm and fine, 
 
 Invulnerable, steadfast, true and tried. 
 Desiring not that your most sacred shrine 
 Shall be exposed unto a single eye — save thine. 
 
 These noble mountains do possess my spirit 
 ' Like messages from Inspiration's heights. 
 The sordid days which lives of care inherit 
 
 Are bathed in splendid gold and purple lights. 
 
 Here Nature's lofty presence disunites 
 The human mind from merely human needs, 
 
 And purifies, exalts, uplifts, incites 
 To search for higher planes and nobler meeds. 
 And frowns on spiritual poverty and greeds. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 41 
 
 How do I like these western wilds, you ask, 
 
 And do I cling with very much stability 
 To my enthusiastic, eager task 
 
 Of mining ? Well, I own that some tranquillity 
 
 Has crept on me of late as to ability 
 To be or not to be a millionaire. 
 
 I ne'er before observed such great facility 
 In getting rich or poor. Such wear and tear 
 As this, prepares one's mind to any fortune dare. 
 
 That poverty may be a curse or not 
 
 Just as we take it, is my observation. 
 The fire that tempers steel is fierce and hot. 
 
 And for the baser metals proves cremation. 
 
 And so the discipline that brings salvation 
 To one strong spirit, may another kill. 
 
 The drear necessity, the isolation. 
 The loss of many gods, the toil up hill, 
 These things might well our hearts with dread and weak- 
 ness fill. 
 
 But see the valiant spirit of the man 
 
 Who fights with poverty the old war. Ever 
 
 Too brave to shrink or shirk through all life's span. 
 See him at his fierce toil that ceases never, 
 
I THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Life's rosy dreams dissolved in his endeavor, 
 As with strong hands he strives from heart and life 
 
 The haunting hosts of fear and doubt to sever. 
 In early morn he sets his face to strife 
 And all his day Avith purpose and resolve is rife. 
 
 What he in his wild struggle on has lost 
 
 He cares not to consider, lest he fall ; 
 Lest he might pause, he dare not count the cost ; 
 
 What he has missed, he strives to not recall, 
 
 Lest Poverty increase his fatal thrall. 
 But to one task he sets a steady face, 
 
 To it devotes time, toil, and being, all. 
 Thus his achievements gather force apace. 
 And often it is he Avho wins the noblest place. 
 
 You say the walls of fate seem closing in, 
 
 And holding you with crushing, slow embrace. 
 
 Ah, Eleanor ! why must your soul begin 
 So soon to fret and long for larger space. 
 So soon to bruise its wings against the face 
 
 Of the white walls of youth's environment? 
 'Tis that your spirit grows and spreads apace. 
 
 Until you touch and crowd your sphere's extent. 
 
 Not that your fate contracts — that you feel crushed and 
 pent. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 43 
 
 Think less, read less, seek rather to enjoy 
 
 Life's trifles light and youth's gay summer time. 
 Let not the hungry intellect destroy 
 
 Your heart's delight in girlhood's happy prime. 
 
 Close not your senses to the rhyme and chime 
 Of faith and hope ideal, by the intense 
 
 Devouring Reason, throwing its sublime 
 White light around your fascinated sense. 
 Consuming in its glow, life's hope of recompense. 
 
 The wild, young stream adowu the mountain-side, 
 
 Throbs in the restless strength of hurrying life ; 
 Seeking with agonizing speed to ride 
 
 Unto the Sea's deep breast beyond all strife. 
 
 From stone to fall, its heart with passion rife, 
 It speaks in eloquence its prisoner's plaint ; 
 
 The plaint that stabs true souls as with a knife. 
 Saying, the world is small, Life's sad restraint 
 Ends in the ocean soon, with Life's pain unacquaint. 
 
 And what avail my progress and my speed 
 When soon I shall be lost forever more ? 
 
 I wear the rock, bring verdure to the mead. 
 Only to drop forgot in the ocean's roar. 
 
44 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 But though into oblivion I pour 
 My being — yet the sea is still the sea, 
 
 Sustained by countless streams from every shore. 
 And this, my destiny, is but the fee 
 Which all that is must pay ; for naught from death is free. 
 
 Like to the stream adown the mountain-side, 
 Have you, dear, in the past held self-commune. 
 
 Saying, '* The Individual hath died 
 
 Since earth began. We travel toward the tomb. 
 The Type survives as yet our common doom — 
 
 Cold comfort to a breaking human heart. 
 When I am dead, in everlasting gloom. 
 
 What boots it that another plays my part ? 
 
 We long to stay with life and love, but must depart. 
 
 "A purple pansy lifts its tender face 
 
 Wooed by the ardor of the summer sky. 
 Anon it perishes. Next year its place 
 
 Beholds another. What does this imply ? 
 
 That Nature's law demands that you and I 
 Live but to die and be forever dead ? 
 
 That all our passionate aspirings high, 
 The loves and labors that our natures wed, 
 Diffuse but as the perfume from the pansy bed ? " 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 45 
 
 Tears clear the inner vision of the soul. 
 
 Sorrow the mind doth chasten and renew. 
 The mists of speculation slowly roll 
 
 Away from him who to the truth is true. 
 
 Before Grief's chastened and majestic view 
 The dazzling intellectual sun veils fire, 
 
 The lightnings of heart-storms grow faint and few ; 
 The electric glow of passion and desire 
 
 Fades in the holy hush. O, grief-taught soul, aspire ! 
 
 Fled are the small ambitions thine but now. 
 
 Vanished the petty cares of every day. 
 The arrogance of knowledge — gone — ah how? 
 
 In this the season which is thine to pray. 
 
 Sorrow supreme hath come with thee to stay ; 
 Grief's tender hands thy spirit wings unfold. 
 
 Love's vision, death-inspired, shall see the way 
 . Which thought hath missed, the way to find and hold 
 Life's loftiest truths, forever new, forever old. 
 
 And thus thy soul, dear friend, shall yet be led 
 Unto the heights of being, Truth revealing. 
 
 And taught that Thought, the circumscribed, must wed 
 With his divine and winged mistress, Feeling ; 
 
46 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Who leaves anon our earthly thrall, and kneeling 
 Eternal silences among in awe — 
 
 Her heart's bi ight lens of purity appealing 
 Unto God's radiance diffused — may draw 
 To focus and to flame, truths which elude Thought's law. 
 
 This heaven-caught flame is that mysterious light 
 
 By which you yet will see with prescient soul 
 That day must break beyond the grave's dark night, 
 
 And life look past this plane for nobler goal. 
 
 The Whence and Whither of this earthly dole 
 Passes the keenest intellectual sight. 
 
 Only the Heart's inspired power can roll 
 Doubt's mist up from the soul upon its height. 
 Which left with vision cleared, can welcome Day or Night. 
 
 Somehow — somewhere — will Love, the mighty, find 
 
 Its apotheosis — perfection j)ure. 
 Somewhere — somehow — the Labor of mankind 
 
 Will meet its late reward, its guerdon sure. 
 
 Somewhere will Sorrow recompense secure. 
 And Disappointment meet its counteraction. 
 
 Somehow Hope's sweet fulfillment will mature, 
 And life be fraught with that pure satisfaction 
 Humanity hath missed, through all this world's distraction. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 47 
 
 Else why rebel from Evil and from 111 ? 
 
 Else why the heart's impassioned protest hold 
 'Gainst human pain, whose healing mocks our skill ? 
 
 Else why the longing, old as man is old — 
 
 And deep as human love — in death still told — 
 For immortality ? O brain ! O heart ! 
 
 O life ! O death ! O sky and earthy mold ! 
 Ye all to honest souls one truth impart, 
 That there is Power and Life, from man's brief breath 
 apart. 
 
 Remove the hope of heaven, and life but plods — 
 With backward gaze, as yearns the heart of some 
 " Converted heathen toward his broken gods." 
 We 7ieed the immortal dream, lest we become 
 Unto Life's highest meanings, blind and dumb. 
 
 But ancient arguments I '11 not pursue. 
 Insisting only this, that you must come 
 
 Away from every theory and view 
 
 Of life's great Ultimate, and take your youth's just due. 
 
 I, who your senior am by fifteen years. 
 
 Desire that you your happy store augment 
 
 Of youth's sunshine, to gleam through future tears. 
 It seems to me that you might represent 
 
48 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 The fair ideal of life's divine intent. 
 You seek no dreamer's lotus-eating land, 
 
 Your busy feet corruption's paths ne'er went. 
 With nature's gift of power in your hand — 
 In the sublimity of womanhood you stand. 
 
 Appreciate your youth while it is yours : 
 
 While yet you know not if the years have been 
 
 The openilig of a poem that obscures 
 
 With its sweet measure all the world's gross din, 
 Or if wild Tragedy has crouched therein. 
 
 O, perfect grace of youth ! before we win 
 Our heritage of suffering and sin, 
 
 With challenge brave to life our works begin, 
 
 And energy that is to godliness akin. 
 
 Before the sacred altar of your soul 
 
 No mean and petty strifes the passage bar ; 
 The stone of worldly care away must roll 
 
 That you may climb your spirit's heights afar 
 
 And carry back the glory of the star. 
 One quality, dear Eleanor, one more 
 
 Would make you all that mortals ever are — 
 A warm and human love, your life poured o'er, 
 To bless you with sweet hopes and emblems of home lore. 
 
THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 49 
 
 Is mine a selfish lover's hopeless dream ? 
 
 Forgive me if my wild presumption seek 
 To gain and hold a happiness supreme. 
 
 No gem so rare, so perfect, so unique — 
 
 But man would wrest it from heaven's highest peak 
 To wear it in his heart. I love you dear ! 
 
 And though for fortune I have but a streak 
 Of goodish ore within a mountain drear, 
 Yet all my heart and life I dare to offer here. 
 
 >!< 't^ :^ * 
 
 And is the dearest hope of every heart 
 
 So like to shatter as a bubble breaks ? 
 O, life 's a bitter thing, and bears no part 
 
 Of justice. Let me face its writhing snakes 
 
 Of disappointments, evils, and heartaches. 
 I will not childishly my reason cheat 
 
 With pretense that our ills are for our sakes ; 
 For evil m all paths and shapes we meet, 
 And sorrow of her triumph we can not defeat. 
 
 The law that rules the order of all things 
 
 Too great in ultimatum is, perhaps, 
 To make of moment what its action brinsrs 
 
 Humanity in this life's lessening lapse. 
 
50 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 The agony that our frail heartstrings snaps 
 Forgotten in eternal waves is spent — 
 
 Aye, even as the rising smoke that wraps 
 A burning sacrifice is lost and blent 
 Within the all-surrounding atmosphere's extent. 
 
 And what avail great thought and noble deed ? 
 
 The old " Why, Why ? " sounds its perplexing note 
 Forevermore. Ah, Eleanor ! no heed 
 
 Give you to these wild words, which but denote 
 
 How weak the heart which your refusal smote. 
 I go next week to B , in Mexico. 
 
 May stay some years, perhaps, and shall devote 
 My energies to work. Before I go — 
 Farewell ! I love you always dear. 
 
 — Eugene Fkeneau. 
 
THE PASSION" OP LIFE. 
 
 PABT FOURTH. 
 
PART FOURTH. 
 
 Prelude — "May Glides Onward into June." 
 
 ^HALL I grieve for the hopes that are floating afar. 
 
 Lament a lost faith ivith its throbbing heart-scar f 
 
 Shall I moan for the dr earnings that fade in the light, 
 
 Or sigh for a life that has passed from my sight f 
 
 It is over ! my iveeping for that which is gone. 
 
 It is time for my womanhood^ s calm day to daivn. 
 
 Let me build up a life of a wider foundation — 
 
 A higher formed structure — a surer creation. 
 
 The rich, morbid dreams of a fancy o'ercast 
 
 Shall give place to a healthier judgment at last. 
 
 A high trust in humanity, lofty and real, 
 
 I shall rear on the grave of my buried ideal. 
 
 A life of the actual, bringing content. 
 
 Shall rise from tlie deadness of energies spent. 
 
 (53) 
 
54 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 world, with thy great, sobbing, suffering heart, 
 Let me be in thy being essential — one part. 
 
 Let me be one small breath in thy deep respiration, 
 In thy lofty ambition — one pure aspiration. 
 The hands of a true, earnest worker — the life 
 Of a resolute aspirant eager for strife. 
 A heart and a mind ivhich are ready for toil. 
 Prepared to endure in thy busy turmoil — 
 These, oh world ! I am ready to proffer to thee. 
 What is highest and noblest and truest in me 
 
 1 yield to thy service, if thou wilt provide 
 That into my life the pure waters may glide 
 Of the river of benefit. Clearing my soul 
 
 Of the false stains of self. If my life I enroll 
 
 With humanity's laborers, toil with a spirit 
 
 Of stern earnestness, ought I not to inherit 
 
 Somewhat of reward in a life made the purer, 
 
 In a heart made more tranquil, a judgment made surer 
 
 Be strong, oh my spirit ! and do not surrender 
 
 Aught that is noble, or holy, or tender. 
 
 The songs of our youth are not all we may sing — 
 
 Youth's smiles, hopes, ambitions, not all life may bring. 
 
 Then find in each phase of existence, the force, 
 
 TJie truth, and the light it may bear on its course. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. ~^ 55 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Afraid I am to trust again the power 
 
 Which cast me on such wrecking rocks before. 
 
 At prayer or plaint of Love, I shrink and cower ; 
 Preferring now the green and fruitful shore, 
 I sought and found to hold forevermore. 
 
 Past me shall sail the crafts of pride and passion. 
 Pound me the storms of worldly conflict roar, 
 
 AVhile I serene, observe but with compassion 
 
 And in Philosophy's calm guise my own life fashion. 
 
 I feel that I can work and strive and live 
 
 With something yet of energy sublime. 
 I know that I have treasure yet to give — 
 
 Jewels and fine gold for the world betime. 
 
 I will not hoard them past my life's dear prime, 
 For just the Master's hand Love meant to bless ; 
 
 I '11 spend them all along the path I climb : 
 It shall not be that I earth's last bed press 
 Until my gift of good the hungry world possess. 
 
 What can I do ? Well, something ! I 'm not one 
 To underrate the force of one mere life. 
 
 How many stay the helping hand, and shun 
 The way of helpful work, of loyal strife. 
 
56 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Eeflecting that the universe is rife 
 With atoms, and that each must hold its place 
 
 In spite of aught. And thus they run the knife 
 Of selfish sophistry across the face 
 Of impulse in us which might be our saving grace. 
 
 We 'd better be the opposite extreme, 
 
 Too arrogant in individuality. 
 Though self-depreciation fair may seem, 
 
 Yet would it rob the world's work of vitality. 
 
 'T is seldom coy reserve wins immortality. 
 'T were best of all to seek just judgment here 
 
 As in all else. Expressing personality 
 With gentle force and yet with power sincere. 
 And thus on other lives our impress may appear. 
 
 Years and miles serenely lie between 
 
 In silence white and pure, now lie between 
 Me and my heart's first love ; me and the scene 
 
 Of my youth's bloom in fancy's glow and sheen. 
 
 O early faded that first bloom I ween. 
 The blossomed beauty of life's fairest dream. 
 
 Yet not in death, as flower from stalk cut clean ; 
 Although to live through all the stress and stream 
 Of tears and anguish, called for strength, and will supreme. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 57 
 
 To be a mere crushed flower — a roseling killed 
 
 By passion's first fierce gale — were not my aim. 
 The soul, the intellect, the will must build 
 
 My life, or life can else upyield her claim. 
 
 And yet, oh yet, my God ! brave words were tame — 
 Were tame and cheap when in majestic grace — 
 
 AVhen in her strength the heart did lift her flame, 
 Her smothered fire up from the years' embrace 
 To re-assert her splendor for a moment's space. 
 
 And well for me that distance, absence, time 
 
 Did then from acts of madness help defend me. 
 Those heart-fires left me desperate ! Sublime 
 
 Motives and thoughts refused then to attend me ; 
 
 But helpless, reckless love instead would rend me 
 With wdld desire to fly my wretched dearth — 
 
 Prepare for any scourge that heaven might send me — 
 Could I first know what happiness was worth. 
 And follow him I loved unto the ends of earth. 
 
 Ah ! many a wretched girl has died of shame, 
 
 Whose love held no more weakness than did mine. 
 
 None knew my spirit fainted. All the same, 
 In such wild moments did I curse the shrine 
 
5 THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 
 
 Where I had sacrificed life's choicest wine, 
 And feel I could not through the years uprise 
 
 To the lofty spirit of my first design. 
 In vain I called ray courage to arise — 
 I could not face the day, nor lift my hopeless eyes. 
 
 And even as the primal savage man 
 
 Before the mysterious storm -god quailed in dread, 
 And worshiped, ignorant of nature's plan. 
 
 The unknown and awful power overhead. 
 
 For help and pity in his terror plead. 
 So I, with all my ancestors' blind fear, 
 
 Instinct of worship long inherited, 
 The great traditional Almighty's ear 
 I fain had sought, and prayed my plaint of pain to hear, 
 
 Nay, more ! upon my knees, in passionate prayer, 
 
 I 've supplicated pity, mercy, aid ; 
 Borne down by lonely sorrow and despair. 
 
 Scourged to the altar of a last hope, laid 
 
 My burden down, and for religion prayed- 
 Prayed for a saving faith in Christ divine. 
 
 For strength on which my soul I might have stayed, 
 Immortal life beyond this world's confine 
 Where I might hope to find all that I here resign. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 59 
 
 But vain ! my earnest supplication bore 
 
 No fruit. And the accusing silence shamed 
 My heart, that I could thus think to ignore 
 
 My birthright for the pottage of a maimed 
 
 And rotten superstition. I reclaimed 
 My wandering thoughts ; and resignation sad 
 
 But still serene were all my reason claimed. 
 'T were best our ignorance were all unclad, 
 Stripped of its purple pomp and rotund priestly pad. 
 
 'T were best the naked fact to recognize, 
 
 And with humility to it submit ; 
 The fact that human mind can never rise 
 
 To grasp a concept of the infinite. 
 
 TJmt Mystery, which still we all admit. 
 At Nature's heart, beyond our ken still lies, 
 
 Must still forever from our knowledge flit — 
 Shine always just beyond our questioning eyes — 
 Yet far, in truth, as earth is far from vaulted skies. 
 
 I 've learned the lesson of a sacrifice. 
 
 'T is not in noble impulse grandly gained. 
 The spirit of the thing, before our eyes 
 
 And in our souls we long must hold sustained. 
 
60 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 This tardy triumph I Ve almost attained. 
 Yes, surely ! for one day in opening spring — 
 
 A day months gone — I knew my trouble waned; 
 All nature smiled through tears, and every thing 
 From that time forth to me heart's ease did seem to bring. 
 
 With cheerfulness to work again I turned : 
 
 The work with brain and pen I like the best. 
 With steady nerve and honest gladness earned 
 
 My bread and books and sweet, untroubled rest. 
 
 And, too, with one dear loyal friend I'm blest, 
 And all the loved ones of the home beside. 
 
 Naught shall my peace and joy in these molest. 
 The genius Toil shall henceforth be my guide, 
 And thus I '11 have some recompense whate'er betide. 
 
 And must I lose a friend to gain a lover ? 
 
 The dear upholding sweetness of a friend ! 
 Is this to me lost — lost beyond recover? 
 
 The unfailing cup of sympathy to lend — 
 
 To happinesses, hopes and hurts attend — 
 All these thy blessed offices may be, 
 
 O Friendship, tutored to a noble end. 
 But Love is cruel, and demands a fee 
 With interest, for gifts of every degree. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. ^ 61 
 
 Friendsliip is tender, while mad Love is fierce. 
 
 The serpent Self about its root still coils, 
 And soon or late its heart will blight and pierce. 
 
 Friendship gives nobly ; the while Love despoils 
 
 Its object, seizing all in greedy toils, 
 And still unsatisfied in full control. 
 
 Friendship is pure. But Love its whiteness soils 
 Anon with bestial scorch from passion coal. 
 Friendship give me ! for Love has power to crush the soul. 
 
 Ah, well I to give him up and let him go 
 
 Is lonely for me, yet I '11 not complain. 
 His solitary way to Mexico 
 
 He takes, my letters seeming to disdain. 
 
 With an unanchored life, I use my brain 
 In the world's work. How does the world requite 
 
 Such labor? Ah, but ill ! Let's not be vain! 
 *' Damned with faint praise," or else forgotten quite. 
 Who works for public good must put self out of sight. 
 
 But yes ! the power to help is worth its cost — 
 To help our struggling human nature out 
 
 Of toils and pitfalls where weak souls are lost — 
 Up, up the heights of Character, where doubt 
 
62 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Of Truth and Right are ever put to rout. 
 Where misery may not kill aspiration, 
 
 Nor bestial crime parade in garb devout. 
 There are such heights ! yet here in desolatioj 
 Souls pass each other by, each wrapped in isolation. 
 
 Adversity seems ever to pursue me. 
 
 Now poverty and sickness are my fate. 
 Will kinder destiny always eschew me ? 
 
 Am I the football of old Fortune's hate ? 
 
 A strain of bitterness is gathering weight 
 And tone from all my unrewarded years, 
 
 And speaks with me in hideous debate ; 
 At all my past endeavors mocks and jeers ; 
 At all my future hopes laughs with prophetic sneers. 
 
 I hate misanthropists ! I will not be 
 A crude, undisciplined, sour pessimist, 
 
 To speak satiric thrusts in repartee — 
 Deny that life and truth may co-exist — 
 Desire that each act in life's play be hissed. 
 
 Such spirits are uncouth, I always find, 
 Howe'er in cultured circles they enlist. 
 
 Misanthropy, like suicide, is blind — 
 
 One cowardly takes life, the other poisons mind. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 63 
 
 'T would not be difficult on any day 
 
 For me, since falseness, meanness, and deceit 
 
 And crime so universal are, to say 
 " I shall trust none, my confidence to cheat." 
 But I'l: not nurture such a base conceit. 
 
 Instead, the great Inevitable face 
 
 With steady eyes for triumph or defeat, 
 
 And hopeful spirit for our human grace : 
 
 Were fate supremely harsh, 't would not this hope dis- 
 place. 
 
 * :^ ^K >!^ 
 
 In silence he has left me to discover 
 
 My need of him, his steadfast love and cheer. 
 His care and tenderness, that seemed to hover 
 
 Around me like a fragrant atmosphere. 
 
 I miss him all these months of silence drear. 
 No word or glance or written sign to tell 
 
 If he be sad or gay, or far or near ; 
 If he be poor or rich, or ill or well — 
 Ah me ! I fain the mist of absence would dispel. 
 
 I fain would call him — beckon him to come! 
 
 My dearest friend, a man so true and strong. 
 Almost unto his suit I could succumb — 
 
 Almost for his enfolding love I long. 
 
64 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Is this my hour of weakness ? Am I wrong ? 
 Nay ! 't is the woman's heart perforce, which turns, 
 
 Turns as the needle to the pole ere long, 
 Away from wide impersonal concerns, 
 And for her hearth and home — for love and nestlings 
 yearns. 
 
 Eugene Freneau is loyal, .calm, and wise. 
 
 His mind is broad as is his true heart deep. 
 The steadfast courage in his tender eyes 
 
 Might serve my restless soul at home to keep. 
 
 The seas of doubt and thought that almost sweep 
 My mental ship to wreck with speculation. 
 
 Philosophy and search, would calm to sleep 
 Anchored with him beyond the lighthouse station ; 
 For he has fought the fight and found the port, salvation. 
 
 Salvation from himself, and from the host 
 
 Of superstitious fears and fancies all, 
 As well as from the gaunt and rocky coast. 
 
 Agnosticism, which lures to fatal fall. 
 
 Enfranchised from all intellectual thrall. 
 He stands a free man with a healthful mind. 
 
 Whom fear of life or death can not appall. 
 I 've come a weary way — am faint and blind. 
 In haven of rest like his, I fain my peace would find. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 65 
 
 And oh for her who tries to live alone. 
 
 No mighty arm of love to shield — to bless : 
 The very silence seems reproach to own, 
 
 There dwells a heartache in the loneliness. 
 
 She yearns for tender word — for mute caress, 
 For sympathy's unfailing cup of life. 
 
 She longs for one who would not love her less 
 Though all the world with scorn and hate were rife ; 
 Who holds her first and best — his cherished, honored 
 wife. 
 
 Ay ! talk of friendship as we may ; but Avhen 
 She finds that " man who is not passion's slave," 
 
 Loyal to noblest principles of men, 
 To woman gentle as he may be brave, 
 Her heart, though buried deep as the deep grave, 
 
 Will beat responsive to him soon or late, 
 And love rise, Phoenix-like, her life to save 
 From self-sufiicient gloom and lonely fate, 
 
 And all her world with happiness to recreate. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 PAET FIFTH. 
 
PART FIFTH. 
 
 Prelude — The Doubter. 
 
 nrHE chastened glory of thy spirifs fire 
 
 Through beauty of the flesh now outward burned, 
 
 Reveals how hard the soul its peace has earned. 
 Its frail clay in the sacrificial pyre 
 Ravished like fields swept by the flames^ fierce ire. 
 
 Thy face is stamped as one who long hath yearned 
 
 With thirst and hunger for the Undiscerned 
 Hunger for hiowledge, with its deep desire — 
 
 Its quenchless question, lights thy bafiled eye; 
 And thirst for Love's ideal — for comfort dear, 
 
 Cries still, ^^ give, give," to life and will not die. 
 Ay I search from booh to nature through the sphere. 
 
 And vainly strive to answer all the Why, 
 
 Whitlier and Whence of life and labor here. 
 
 (6U) 
 
70 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Eleanor and Eugene. 
 
 The startled breeze a throbbing shudder bears. 
 
 And Mexic men and women throng the street 
 And hasten up the winding mountain stairs 
 
 With faces white and flying footsteps fleet. 
 
 The way is crowded with the hastening feet, 
 All pressing toward the ''Silver Pocket" mine. 
 
 For that this mighty crash and thunderous beat 
 Mean dread misfortune there they all divine. 
 They fear for those they love, yet pause to make no sign. 
 
 And soon, alas ! their fears are realized : 
 
 There comes a tumult terrible and wild. 
 The loved are sought and their escape devised — 
 
 The harrowing swift search of wife or child — 
 
 Strong life with tragedy unreconciled — 
 The quick, efficient help of strong men brave — 
 
 All in a dense and drear confusion piled. 
 Some are hurt beyond all power to save, 
 And others tombed at once within a living grave. 
 
 Among the wounded lies Eugene Freneau, 
 The master of the mine, with pallid face, 
 
 Unconscious of his pain or others' woe. 
 
 Within the nearest house they gently place 
 
THE PASSIOX OF LIFE. 71 
 
 His quiet form in all its manly grace. 
 After a time he waked to find his friend, 
 
 A young physician, had assumed his case. 
 The day's dread stroke he seemed to comprehend, 
 And to the maimed and stricken sought his aid to lend. 
 
 After a silence long he raised his eyes. 
 
 And with a gesture faint his friend brought near. 
 ' ' In all your candor I so highly prize. 
 
 Tell me, I beg you, if the end is here. 
 
 Speak me the truth — I have no coward's fear ; 
 Say, is it life or death ?" The doctor quailed. 
 
 And glanced aside to hide the rising tear. 
 The voice in which he strove to answer failed. 
 His strong hand trembled, and the ruddy brown cheek 
 paled. 
 
 Eugene, with calm, incisive glance, saw all. 
 And spoke again in steady, tender tone : 
 *'My friend, there's one whom I must have you call. 
 Of all the world I have but only one, 
 And she not mine — not mine — I am alone. 
 
 To her I leave my mine and fortune small. 
 Tell her I die and face the great unknown. 
 
 Soon to be free from every mortal thrall. 
 
 With all my love unchanged — it can not fail or fall." 
 
72 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 Thus went to Eleanor the tidings swift 
 
 Of him whom she had learned to treasure most. 
 And must again her heart be set adrift 
 
 Upon the storm in frown of rock-bound coast ? 
 
 Her life seems haunted with Despair's wan ghost. 
 But not for long does she her grief and fear 
 
 Thus entertain with all their spectral host. 
 She seeks for God, that refuge ever near 
 When mortal comfort fails our burdened souls to cheer. 
 
 After her prayer and passion spent their stress, 
 
 Her wild abandonment calmed slowly down. 
 She felt assured that God her prayer would bless — 
 
 With peace and joy her life at last would crown. 
 
 Not now or ever should the black waves drown 
 Her hope, her strength, her glory, with their might. 
 
 No terrors of life's deeps can henceforth frown 
 To silence chill her soul's demand for light. 
 For she has passed where fear and doubt no more 
 affright. 
 
 In calm possession of her strength and hope, 
 She speeds upon her way to seek Eugene. 
 
 To her the flying train seems but to mope ; 
 She scarcely sees the splendid shifting scene ; 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 73 
 
 The mountain views in miracles of sheen 
 Or shadow towering ominous and vast, 
 
 Canyon and cliff, and plain with carpet green, 
 Like pictures in a dream float dimly past — 
 Her thoughts intent on him toward whom she travels fast. 
 
 A little while and she beheld Eugene — 
 
 Beheld him lying wan upon his bed. 
 With patience stamped upon his noble mien. 
 
 Not yet, quite yet, the fainting breath had fled. 
 
 He knew her as she neared with noiseless tread, 
 And strove to welcome with a smile and sign. 
 
 She knelt beside him, bent her regal head 
 To kiss his lips with tenderness divine. 
 Stirring his feeble pulse as with some magic wine. 
 
 Then from the holy hush arose her voice. 
 
 Calm with the strength of more than human aid, 
 
 Deep with the majesty of sacred choice. 
 
 Sweet with the faith which all her being stayed. 
 As kneeling there she passionately prayed — 
 
 Prayed with her face alight, her soul illumed. 
 Her God-inspired heart no fear dismayed. 
 
 And he who had believed his strong life doomed 
 
 Listened, amazed and glad — anew his hope now bloomed. 
 
74 THE PASSION OF LIFE. 
 
 He rallied, filled with hope and life's desire, 
 
 Impressed anew with God's mysterious grace. 
 New strength his spirit seemed to now acquire ; 
 
 New courage all his deep despair displace. 
 
 Transfigured was his wan and haggard face. 
 While gentle slumber claimed him unaware. 
 
 And Death denied his prey, withdrew apace 
 His darksome shadow from between this pair, 
 While Eleanor kept watch in blessed silence there. 
 
 And when the morrow's dawn went up the sky. 
 The young physician came and stood amazed. 
 
 He saw no look they wear who sbon must die. 
 That gruesome look which yesterday had glazed 
 Eugene's sad eyes as on his friend he gazed. 
 
 But here and now this deep, refreshing sleep 
 Tells of the crisis passed — new forces raised. 
 
 No trace of anguish mars the brow's broad sweep. 
 
 No clutch of pain disturbs the breathing calm and deep, 
 
 He lived, lived long a happy, useful life. 
 Made rich in helpfulness and busy cheer. 
 
 And Eleanor, his honored, trusting wife, 
 Kejoiced in harmony and love sincere. 
 
THE PASSION OF LIFE. 7^^ 
 
 In equal strength, Avithout a doubt or fear, 
 At peace with God and man and their own soul»- 
 
 Together thus they trod the life-path here, 
 TJnfrighted under storm or terapest-rollis, 
 Trusting that Power which the Universe controls. 
 


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